


London Bridge Has Fallen Down

by Kitchyy



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blow Jobs, D/s elements, Drugs, Frottage, Humiliation, Kidnapping, M/M, Rape, Training, Verbal Humiliation, crowley's a bastard, season 6
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-25
Updated: 2016-10-25
Packaged: 2018-08-24 14:45:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8376142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kitchyy/pseuds/Kitchyy
Summary: SPN Knk Meme prompt: Dean is captured and put in a room. He's forced to take a pill that makes him incredibly horny and even coming doesn't really relieve it. His captor won't touch him until Dean begs for it but for good behavior he's allowed to jerk off, with his captor watching of course.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I was just going through some kink meme fills without a care in the world, then his prompt raised it's head and wouldn't let me go, so uh... yeah. This happened. I'd like to say I'm sorry but... I'm just not. Hee. Always up for concrit and feedback is love. This is also the darkest thing I think I've ever written so *Read The Warnings* I mean it. 
> 
> No beta so all mistakes are mine, all mine. Also, Supernatural isn't mine, yadda yadda.

The Winchesters are a package deal, you don't get one without the other. They are a team, grown so closely together from birth and trained so thoroughly that they not only understand how one another thinks, they know each others instincts. They know when to dodge, when to duck and when to retreat - however rare those moments may be. Angels and demons, even the things that go bump in the night have all seen them do it, the smooth, synchronous dance they perform in battle comes almost without concern – without thought – and it is a wondrous thing to watch.

Like yin and yang, tick and tock, there is also a Sam and Dean.

So it begs the question: what would happen if the finely oiled machine that were the Winchester brothers suddenly stuttered and stalled? What would it look like if half of the whole became sick or damaged somehow? Perhaps one had a few immobilizing memories of a pit and Lucifer spill out of a broken mental wall or two, as the many whispers had said. Surely there would be a time of sequestering, of recovery and healing before they turned their brave faces to the fight again.

But what about the delicious, vulnerable space between the stumble and the return? An interesting conundrum to be sure.

It's a question that needs serious thought and contemplation on Crowley's part. He needs to think about what can be gained from such a fortuitous, albeit short window of opportunity. What could one possibly want when one was king and could have it all? But there is always something to want, isn't there? Things to crave for. To covet.

And Crowley always did like beautiful things.

Contemplation turns to strategy, then patience and timing. Finally, it requires action. And one little gift from a good succubus friend.

It was almost too easy nabbing Dean. But that's what happens when a string is pulled too taut and nerves run too high. Mistakes tend to follow in their wake. Crowley is still careful, though. He hires men to do the kidnapping so there is no scent of sulfur to follow, no trail of monsters to track. He doesn't bring him down to the depths of his kingdom right away. Instead, he keeps the hunter in a daze and unaware of his surroundings, a hood for his eyes and a rope for his hands and feet. Only when he's sure the trail he's made is so ornate and confusing that even the best of trackers would become hopelessly lost does he bring is trophy back to his haven.

The little pill is crushed, mixed with food and drink that Crowley gives him only when he knows the need for it will outweigh any concern of the contents.

Dean has always been beautiful. His eyes are a verdant green, lips full and lush. He has strong, wide shoulders, a trim waist, and the bow of his legs are irresistible, made for someone to be between them. When the pill takes hold his cheeks flush, then his eyes glaze, and Crowley watches delightfully as Dean flits from emotion to emotion: want, guilt, self recrimination, anger, desperation, and finally an all encompassing need to touch, feel and taste.

Then the fun really begins.

 

* * *

 

Crowley lays eyes on Dean when he opens the door to his chamber. The hunter is a sprawled, wanton thing lying on the bed. His hair is damp with sweat, eyes a bare hint of green with oh, so many promises held in the wide black of his pupils. His hand is wrapped around his cock, moving tight and fast as he jacks himself.

Crowley frowns but stays the punishment he would usually give for such an offense. This particular situation needs patience and a careful hand, and contrary to popular belief, Crowley can be a patient man when he needs to. “Dean, must we go through the rules again?”

Dean's clothes are long gone, he shucked them off himself and left them in a rumpled pile in a corner. Crowley had thought about taking them once or twice and leaving Dean with no choice but to be naked, his body open to him at any time, but there's a kind of pleasure that Crowley gets knowing that Dean won't reach for them. The hunter looks at them from time to time, Crowley knows he wants the security of layers over his skin, an armor against the battle to come, but the thought always seems a little hazy and far away.

Dean's eyes flash in anger and thinly veiled hate, but it's quickly drowned by want so strong it's almost a tangible thing. He takes his hand slowly away from his cock, as if the mere idea of stopping causes him physical harm. He moves slowly like molasses to sit on his knees, his neck and head a graceful bowed curve. His cock is hard, flushed pink and bright.

Crowley nods in approval. "I see we've made some improvements, then. Lovely."

Crowley crosses the room and sits at the only chair. A small table stands next to it with refreshments and a bowl of fruit. “I thought it would take much longer to have you sitting so nicely.” He feels those observant eyes tracking his every move and he isn't sure yet if he likes it or not. Crowley's thought about blindfolding the man from time to time, but he says so much with them that it's hard to hide them away under blindfolds.

He likes learning the language of Dean's eyes.

He pours himself a glass of whiskey, neat and picks up the bowl, holds out a piece of an orange and Dean, ever the quick learner, crawls on hands and knees to Crowley's side and wraps his arms loosely around his calf.

Dean kisses at his fingers as he takes the gift, unable to stop the need for touch as it overtakes him and Crowley clucks in warning. There's another flash of anger and aggression in his eyes, but Dean is so very close to the edge now that he's touching someone. Crowley can see him fight against wanting this. It's sheer desperate clawing determination, but Dean is losing. Crowley feeds him a few more pieces of fruit, and the great tower that is Dean Winchester starts to crumble.

"Please, Crowley," He begs, grinding against his leg. Trembling hands slip up under his trouser leg and paw hotly at his skin.

Who could deny a request like that?

“If you must...” Crowley sighs as if put upon, opens his pants and strokes himself hard, then holds his cock steady at the base. He doesn't give any direction, he doesn't have to. He just waits.

Dean inches closer, unable to resist the siren call of skin and pleasure and Crowley smiles in satisfaction when Dean gently suckles at the head of his cock.

"Not so hard to give in is it, Darling?" He purrs and strokes his hand through soft, sweaty hair in reward. Dean moans around his length and takes Crowley deeper into his mouth. Crowley presses his boot to the side of Dean's erection – part cruelty, part kindness – and Dean shudders all over. Crowley can feel it on his cock as it slides thickly between plush, pink lips.

He takes a sip of whiskey and rests his head against the chair, contemplating all the many possibilities this fortuitous event has given him access to. All the things he can do to this wonderful creature when given ample opportunity and time. He sighs in pleasure as his cock slides deeper into the inviting warm, wet heat and suction that is Dean's mouth.

This, _this_ is what Dean was always meant for.

Crowley closes his fist in Dean's hair, no longer a caress but a command as he thrusts into his mouth. "You may come when I come," he tells the man, "but you still can't use your hands."

Dean whimpers, shifts and resourcefully grinds his erection hard along the side of Crowley's leg again. He never did say Dean could get help from other objects and Crowley chuckles at his ingenuity. He could move his leg away, order him to stop and make Dean come untouched, but his thrusts are a sweet counterpoint to the bobbing of Dean's head so he allows it, just this once.

Dean's thrusts turn erratic, he stiffens, shudders and moans as he comes, and Crowley cups the back of Dean's head so he can't pull back, thrusts up hard and comes deep and glorious down Dean's throat. Crowley doesn't need to look to know that Dean has swallowed it all. When Crowley finally lets go Dean pulls off and coughs, sniffles, but comes back to lick up the last of his release from Crowley's spent cock.

Dean is still impossibly wrapped around his leg, and Crowley has barely caught his breath before Dean's thrusting at his leg again, the wetness of his earlier release providing a smoother glide that Crowley can feel through his trouser leg. It's barely even cooled and Dean is already so needy.

"You know the rules, Dean," Crowley admonishes and pulls his leg away a little. "Only when I tell you."

"Fuck, I need it. Damn it, Crowley!" Dean snaps, some of his old fight coming back up, and that simply won't do.

Crowley stands and Dean is knocked back to the floor in an ungainly sprawl of limbs. Crowley arches a single brow in disdain. "Need?" He asks quietly. "I tell you what you need. You'd do well to remember that." He walks to the door, unsurprised when the thick jut of Dean's cock rises yet again, angry and hot with unresolved relief from the apex of his legs.

“Fuck you, Crowley,” Dean snaps, his body a taut line of anger.

"Don't you wish,” Crowley smirks, and Dean lowers his head, hiding from the truth they both know is written across his face. “Remember, darling, only I tell you when you get a reprieve." He smiles with one hand idly resting on the doorknob. "If you don't follow my rules, I promise you, it'll be hell."

He closes the door, a smile still lingering at the corners of his mouth as Dean's muffled shouts behind the heavy locked door fill the hall.

 

 


End file.
